


lost and dusty

by scarletsymphony



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M, Rare Pair, being closeted under fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 17:30:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4796129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletsymphony/pseuds/scarletsymphony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're angry." Teren meets his glare head on, unperturbed.</p><p>"And why the fuck shouldn't I be?" Tim turns his scowl back to where Brad and Nate are still talking. "Why the hell isn't every angry? Why is it that the only thing Brad Colbert, fucking Iceman, gives a shit about right now is not getting his precious mission and jerking off all over --" he cuts himself off abruptly, grinding his teeth to keep from crossing the line he just reprimanded Teren for stepping up to. </p><p>Written for the YAGKYAS Good Cookie Challenge 2013</p>
            </blockquote>





	lost and dusty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [accol](https://archiveofourown.org/users/accol/gifts).



"And you think anyone is gonna to notice shit with them around?"  
  
Tim tears his eyes away from where their platoon commander and Brad are leaning against the hood of a Humvee right in the centre of camp, the dumb fucks. Teren's not looking at him or them, settled in the dirt under their cami netting and polishing his M-16 under dim moonlight. Tim feels a stab of irritation to add to the roiling discontent that seems perpetual nowadays.  
  
"Shut the fuck up." he says gruffly, warning in his voice. Teren pauses and looks up at Tim from under his eyebrows, gaze cool. Then he looks pointedly over to where the rest of their team is sleeping in their graves. Even from a good six meters away Baptista's snoring is still easy to pick out.   
  
"Your sense of self-preservation is shit, Corporal." Tim says flatly after a few moments. "And you're right." He turns his head and spits in the sand. "Those two  _idiots_." He grimaces, fingers skimming over a half-empty pill pack of anti-diarrheals, counting.   
  
"My sense of self-preservation is just fine." comes the mild reply. Pause. "You, on the other hand."  
  
"Me?"  
  
"You're angry." Teren meets his glare head on, unperturbed.  
  
"And why the fuck shouldn't I be?" Tim turns his scowl back to where Brad and Nate are still talking. "Why the hell isn't everyone angry? Why is it that the only thing Brad Colbert, fucking Iceman, gives a shit about right now is not getting his precious mission and jerking off all over --" he cuts himself off abruptly, grinding his teeth to keep from crossing the line he just reprimanded Teren for stepping up to. He knows he's not being fair, but he can't help it. Everything here just makes him so fucking angry he can't stand it.  
  
He hears the rustling noise of Teren standing and absently tracks the sound of his approach. Teren sits next to him, boots knocking against his. He takes his arm and carefully, deliberately places it at Tim's elbow, squeezing slightly. Tim breathes in and out, tamping down the urge to yank away and trying desperately not to lean into Teren. He's remembering all the times before this, outside of theatre. The quiet moments between them, Teren's hand on the back of his neck, the few minutes of complete calm after they both came. The memories feel foreign, bittersweet and dangerous. He desperately tries to shove them down, away.  
  
"Won't always be like this." Teren's voice is level, and for some fucked up reason, even though he's a kid a couple years younger, a Corporal, something in Tim believes him. Shifting minutely closer to Teren's warmth, it occurs to him that this probably means he's no better than Brad fucking Colbert.


End file.
